In the Pursuit of Prey
by Kaytastrophe
Summary: Another 'Ralph meets up with Jack and has a rotten go of it but cheers up just in time for the last chapter where Jack professes his love for him' fic Because frankly, I don't think that there are enough of them.


Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies, nor do I profit from writing this fan fiction in any way. The novel this fan fiction was based on belongs to William Golding.

This fic may contain future scenes of a sexual nature. I also strongly suggest not reading this fic if you've a problem with boy x boy ( SLASH!) stories, as this looks like the makings of one. Please review. _

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**The Letter**

_Looking back, I can't help but think that I'm to blame._

_Now, I understand why you might be surprised to hear me say such a thing, but I don't want you to go and lose your head over this. It's important for you to stay calm- and no, I'm not on drugs, and I promise that I'm sober… for the moment._

_No, my mind is as clear as crystal. This isn't about my having had some huge revelation- I haven't joined a new cult that require any special sort of punches, so this isn't a suicide letter- and I haven't started smoking pot. No. That's not it at all, so get those pretty little thoughts out of your head, Ralphie._

_This realization isn't a product of something that I've done- It's a product of your action._

_Or rather, a product of your inaction._

_I've spent weeks trying to figure out where this all went wrong. Weeks trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time when this thing- this intangible, disgusting, alluring thing- had first been cultivated. I believe that in finding it's moment of conception, I might be able to figure out what had caused it._

_Needless to say, I've yet to discover when things had begun to change. Right now, I find myself wishing that life really were like a movie- but it isn't. Things don't have clear cut reasons, with an underlying plot, a message, a lesson to be learned, a final twist, and finally, the ever so entertaining yet clichéd ending that leaves the audience applauding, simply glad that things had turned out the way they had hoped ( well, knew, thanks to the predictability of the entertainment industry ) that they would._

_I've never been physically or emotionally deprived of anything- I've gotten everything I've wanted and more, simply because my parents were in the position to give these things to me. I've had opportunities that most boys will only ever dream of- and have had adventures that would put even Robin Hood to shame. And that, mate, is why I can't give you a reason for what I'd done. If there had been some sort of deprivation- however small, however insignificant- Then I could simply stop on that moment in time and say 'There! That's why. There's my reason. Now d'you see?'_

_That, Ralph, is the difference between reality and television. At least, that's my difference- I simply don't have a good enough reason to have done the things that I have, and so I find myself admitting to the crime- pleading guilty, as it were, but simply not having a motive. Had I been on trial for murder, the court would think I were mad for not having had a reason._

_As it were, that's the only reason I'm apologizing. Because, as far as I can tell, I honestly, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die, had no reason to do the things that I had done to you._

_The only explanation I have come up with, is that I did all of this to you, not because I particularly enjoyed torturing you more than any other (though don't get me wrong- I loved every minute of it) but simply because you let me._

_That, Ralph, is your only fault. Your one weakness- your personal kryptonite._

_Inaction._

_Just let me tell you this, Ralph, and please don't hold this against me- after all the bruises, the bloody noses, the broken bones, the sore throats, the broken hearts, and the empty soul destroying insults- after all those wonderful, glorious tears- and after those lovely, pain staking screams, I was still able to crack a smile._

_After everything we'd been through- moreover, after everything that I'd put you through, I was still able to smile. That's not because I was looking towards a better future, and not because it was all over, ready to be placed in a mental file and forgiven. It was because after dragging you through hell, 'round the corner and back, with a little kicking and screaming along the way, burnt soles, and in dire need of a bath at the end, I was still willing to do it again._

_And guess what, love- I wouldn't even worry about doing it for the glory. I'd do it out of the kindness_ _of my heart-_

_And to hear your screams._

_You know how I love it when you scream..._

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I sat staring Mr.Denson, my top of the line 25-pounds-a-visit therapist down, waiting for him to raise his eyes to meet my gaze. Finally warm brown meets cool blue. 

Eye contact. Confusion.

" And, you say…?" He prompts.

" He's moving back. Here… to-to London, I mean."

" Oh?" his brows raise, brown peppered with white.

" Yeah. And I reckon…" At this I pause, carefully choosing my next words. I don't want to frighten him, but at the same time, I know that he can sense my discomfort at having received such a letter.

" What is it, son?" He says kindly, trying to sound understanding. He's leaning foreword in his chair, his eyes wide and expectant.

" I reckon the hunt is still on. "


End file.
